


Jackalopes

by El_Imprestavel



Series: Palabres et Camarade [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: ASL, American Sign Language, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Sign Language, drug mention, is it romo or is it bromo you decide, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 14:09:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18779842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/El_Imprestavel/pseuds/El_Imprestavel
Summary: He’s a cryptid who loves warm cookies.





	Jackalopes

**Author's Note:**

> Horrance discord said we needed fluff.......... So fluff I offer. I'm a simple man.
> 
> Let's say they're around 13 years old.

“Jackalopes exist.”

Sitting on one of the couches, Ben kicks his legs in the air with annoyment. The huge book he presses close to his heart displays ‘CRYPTIDS’ in golden letters, the only intact part of the brown cover worn off by time. Probably some old book Ben stol-- borrowed from dad’s library.

In front of him, Luther crosses his arms. “They don’t. It’s a legend.”  
“No!”

Six and One seldom fight, it is a fact. Six looks up to One almost as much as he looks up to dad, seeking from him those praises he loves so much to hear. But Luther has that way of disagreeing - brows frowned, lips tight, serious as ever and voice bearing a tone that doesn’t call for answers - that makes Ben’s skin crawl. Luther disagrees, and it’s not so much as stating an opposite opinion; it’s saying that Ben is wrong, whatever he says, because Luther is the leader and Luther is always _right_. Luther always has the last word, no matter the topic.

And when it’s something that means so much to Ben - especially when it’s something that means so much to Ben -, well, Ben feels the ancientness of chaos and the promises of destruction rumbling like thunder in his stomach, the old gods conspiring behind the portal of his skin. It shakes his core like lightning, growls in his bones. The monster wants to be mean with Luther, and Ben is tempted to give in. He wouldn’t be sorry. Deities don’t know ‘sorry’. He’d break Luther’s arm like a crayon and show him what happens when Ben _disagrees_.  
Ben presses the book to his chest closer. The bloodlust-filled chants in his gut quieten as they always do, no more than a vague memory, a brief flash of childish anger and frustration. He turns his head to Klaus, sitting next to him, rolling himself a joint. Klaus likes acting as if he didn’t exist. Discreet as the ghosts he sees. Ben shakes his shoulder softly to catch his attention, and, carefully, number Four’s eyes meet his.

“Jackalopes exist, right?”

The only answer he gets is a little nod, which is enough for him. Klaus isn’t talkative, the days after his solo mission (weird mission, if you ask Ben, you don’t come back from a mission smelling like dirt, sweat and an ungodly gross smell that can’t be described). He avoids eyes, avoids Dad, disappears in his room for most of the day, jerks at the lightest touch that isn’t from Ben. It’s like he is here and not here. Like he tries to stay grounded and to fade away at the same time. There’s a part of him that is flickering like a candle in a storm, barely holding on, and Ben always fears one day Klaus will snap like a rubber band and not come back from wherever he gets lost in after those solo missions.

“Of course he’s gonna agree with you! You could say you’re an alien and he would agree without thinking twice!” Luther groans. “Ask someone with common sense.”  
Ben wants to ripost that Klaus would be _right_ to agree that Ben is an alien, because Ben shelters an eldritch creatures in his stomach, which can pretty much be counted as an alien; but Klaus has started moving.  
Klaus lifts his head - breaking out of his shell, of his statue-like state, unfolding like an old stone giant that stayed asleep for centuries - and extends an arm to give his precious joint to Ben, brows furrowing. The process is slow, gradual. Ben can almost hear the creaking and cracking of rock, the fall of accumulated dust, the vegetation that has grown with the years detaching itself painstakingly. Klaus looks at Spaceboy and takes a second to breath. Then, his hands move to sign words, quick and sharp and precise, in contrast with his previous lethargy.

There in anger, in the way Klaus moves; but Ben watches, fascinated, the fluidity with which Klaus’ hands trace the air. It’s like water flowing: untamed, free, fast, yet contained, like a torrent in a riverbed. Klaus is a force of nature. It is too discreet to be seen when he remains still, but when he’s in motion, it pours out of him like a rainshower. Ben could watch the spectacle of him for hours. Even if he hates when Klaus reaches the point when he’s so psychologically exhausted by his solo mission he needs to use ASL, Ben would be lying if he said he wasn’t mesmerized by it.

Ben shakes his head before turning to Luther, translating everything. “He says that if weirdos like us exist, then there’s no reason that a bunny with horns that loves whiskey doesn’t.”

The only answer he gets from their brother is a loud and annoyed sigh, followed by a roll of eyes so hard Luther probably saw his own brain. That’s Luther’s way of saying they’re idiots, since he can’t find anything to reply to Klaus’ statement. Ben sticks his tongue at Luther like the child he still is, handing the drug back to Klaus before opening his book and letting his mind wander again as he turns the pages.

Cryptids, monsters, eldritch gods… everything beyond any possible human explanation fascinates him, since he is the living shelter of one of those unexplainable creatures. He gets lost in books about them, no matter how heavy and dusty the books are, for hours and days when the Academy isn’t on mission or training. Sometimes, he falls asleep reading, and it’s Klaus who comes get him when he drifts off at the back of the library late at night.

But gods, how disturbingly wonderful and reassuring it is, for him, to see all these fucked up drawings. To see the monstrosities that lurk in the shadows of the human world, glimpsed by lucky mortals, put on paper with fascination and reverence alike. It gives him a feeling of safety he can’t really explain. A certain sense of security.

His beast exists. People can say they’ve seen it. Yet, it’s not proven, and it’ll probably never be.

Therefore, Ben is a cryptid.

He’s not The Horror - he’s a cryptid, and he loves thinking of himself that way. Of course, he’s not as cute as a Jackalope, and doesn’t share the taste for whiskey; but he sure loves Mom’s cookies, and it works, if you ask him. Same difference.  
He’s a cryptid who loves warm cookies.

A hand sliding against his takes him out of his thoughts. Ben jolts slightly. It’s Klaus, who appears to want to say something, but the words are still tied in his throat, so he needs Ben to watch him to communicate. Once their eyes meet – Ben’s chocolate brown eyes locking with Klaus’ beautiful, beautiful ones, green like a lost faerie forest, green like a mid spring meadow - Klaus gives him a tiny smile and moves his hands.

‘Why do you like Jackalopes so much?’

Ben chuckles a bit when Klaus signs Jackalopes, not because it’s looks stupid, but because it’s cute. They never found a way to properly say it, so they had to make their own sign: first the sign for rabbit, then the one for deer. It’s awfully cute. As cute as Klaus, if you ask Ben.

If you ask Ben when he’s alone, and after two in the morning, only, because he’s more honest when he’s tired.

“I just like rabbits,” he lies aloud. He loves them especially because whenever Klaus signs that word, his heart misses a beat, his stomach turns into a kaleidoscope of butterflies, and he has to bite the inside of his cheeks not to smile too much. “It’s the kind of cryptid I want to be. Tiny and innocent looking, but able to tear my enemies apart.”

So I can protect you no matter what, he wants to add, but doesn’t. He watches the pair of hands moving in front of him again.

‘You’re already cute and deadly.’

There’s a smile on Klaus’ face, a fucking real smile, finally, turning Klaus’ face into a shooting star, so bright and so lovely and so everything that Ben can’t handle. He buries his face in the crook of Klaus’ neck to hide the red on his cheeks, and Klaus welcomes him with a silent laugh. In front of them, Luther grunts.

Ben wishes on that shooting star, on the smile on Klaus’ face, for Jackalopes to be real.

For him to become one.

For him to protect Klaus from these solo missions which have already started breaking him apart.

**Author's Note:**

> You're free to decide if it's some Horrance/46 or if it's just two bros.  
> I wrote this along with a couple of other one shots, too short to be posted on their own on my taste, but enough to make a little serie. So here we go, first part!!  
> Thanks to my wife, the lovely @LinkedSoul, for correcting and editing everything. Poor her, im lov u... Please check her work :D!


End file.
